


Really Here

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Oral Fixation, Originally Posted on Tumblr, bitey sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Steve loses his careful control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really Here

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: I imagined the reader character as Beth the Waitress.

"I’m so sorry," he says, and looks it, worry written all over his face. His hair flops over his forehead and whatever pleasant warmth there might have been in the afterglow is gone now. Fingertips graze the purple bruise on your shoulder and he looks like he wants to hit something or kick himself or run away.

You’re having none of that. You push up on one elbow and loop your arm around his neck to pull him into a kiss. A kiss with none of the violence he seems to expect, based on the way he tenses against you. When he relaxes, you kiss the edge of his mouth, and then you bring him down with you, into the nest of pillows and soft sheets and warm blankets.

"Don’t be. It’s nice."

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you.

Some conversations just can’t be had face to face, and sometimes you think you live for his arms around you, but that lost look in his eyes and his silence have you rolling him over and pressing yourself against his back, knees hooked behind his, arms around him. His fingers wrap around yours and he brings your hand to his chest and you kiss his shoulder.

"I like it when you do that, Steve."

"I hurt you."

"It’s not the bad kind of hurt." You close your eyes and wriggle closer, getting more comfortable, close to sleep and hoping he’ll join you. "I like it. Makes me feel wanted. Makes me think you’re really really here." You press your fingers to the hot skin over his heart. "Sometimes I don’t think you are," you finish quietly.

"I—"

"Don’t need an explanation," you tell him mildly, and nose along his shoulder blade to kiss his spine. You sigh softly, the sound of falling asleep. "You think you’ll still be here when I wake up?" you ask drowsily.

He squeezes your fingers. “I’ll try.”

"Don’t worry about it if you can’t." One last kiss, and you murmur, "Good night, Steve."

***

He’s so gentle the next time you think you’ll come from the frustration of it alone.

***

You scrape your teeth along the curve of his chest and look up at him. The bedside lamp casts him in a golden glow. His mouth is open, pink and wet, and his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are feverishly bright.

"Oh," he says.

You smile through a kiss to his nipple.

He doesn’t stop you, lets you work down his chest, biting hard enough to leave impressions of your teeth in his skin, sucking hard enough to leave tiny bruises. His fingers rest gently on the back of your head, the tips pushed through your hair. You move over his belly, trace the definition of his muscles with your tongue and pepper sharp kisses from side to side. When you suck a dark mark over his hip, he arches off the bed and he pulls at your hair.

"All right," he breathes. " _All right._  You gotta— You have to stop.”

You push up on hands and knees over him and smirk down at him. “Why?”

A challenge flashes in his eyes. In the next moment, his arms are around you and he’s rolling so you’re under him and he’s between your thighs, his hips settled unsubtly against yours. “Because it’s your turn.”

Anticipation sends a tingle down your spine and straight to the center of you. “Yeah?”

"Oh, yeah." But there’s a question in his eyes.

You brush the flop of hair off his forehead and push your fingers through his hair until you can cup the back of his head and pull him down for a kiss. He melts into you a little. You rock your hips up, just enough to rub against him, and when you break the kiss you bite his lip.

"Please."

Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted since you watched him sip his coffee weeks ago, that mouth on you.

He kisses you one more time, soft and sweet, before he ducks his head and sets his teeth to the side of your neck. You dig nails into the meat of his shoulder and push yourself closer to him. Your thighs cradle his hips and he groans quietly against your neck before he starts sucking a mark over the beat of your pulse in your throat. His mouth is hot. Incredibly hot. And the weight of him pressing you down against the mattress is so good combined with the pleasure-pain he’s sucking and biting into your skin that you could sob. He moves to the join of your neck and shoulder, where he bit last time because he couldn’t help himself. It’s still tender there and you gasp. He laves it gently with his tongue, sucks sweetly. You moan and curl your fingers in his hair and his name is as good as a sigh.

_God_ , he’s solid. You dig fingers into the flesh of his shoulders, his arms, holding as he moves down. It’s like he’s determined to set every nerve alight with his mouth, over your shoulders and along your collarbone with sharp little nips that send sparks through you. He doesn’t take the hand from your back, his arm from around you, but he uses his free hand to cup your breast, to draw your nipple into his mouth and suck and bite until it’s a hard point of near pain. More than that—he scrapes his teeth along the inside swell, sucks wet kisses along the curve of the underside until he finds a patch of skin that makes you gasp just from the breath exhaled over it and he camps there, biting and sucking and kissing until it burns and your hiss isn’t all pleasure.

He keeps going, lower and lower, a straight line down the center of your belly. Anticipation grows inside you, a knot that pulls on all parts of you until you’re tense and arching against him. He stops, one arm around you under your hips, the other hand on your thigh just above your knee, and he bites at the swell of your belly beneath your navel.

You spread your legs and rock up against him. Why are you still wearing your panties? Whose idea was it to leave underwear on? (Was it yours? You groan. Never again.)

Steve hooks his fingers into the top of your panties to pull them down, just a little, just enough to bare your hips. He presses a kiss to the top of your hipbone, wet and sucking and hard. And he drops them along the line of your hip from the prominence to just above your mons and up to the other hip. His breath is hot on your skin and his hands are firm on your thighs now, holding them—holding you—in place.

He kisses your mons through your panties and for a few long moments, rests his mouth there, breathing hot and damp against you, maddeningly close.

“ _Steve_.” It’s more of a whine than a word and you try to push him down. You roll your hips but he doesn’t move, just rests there, his mouth on you, his fingers dug into your thighs.

He  _laughs_. It’s low and dark and amused. He takes the hint but not the way you wanted, pressing slow kisses to you through your panties. He rubs his parted lips over you, nuzzling up against the inside of your thigh.

You groan. “Don’t tease me.”

"Not a tease," he corrects. "A promise." He lets go of your thighs and gets up on hands and knees over you. He smacks your flank, sharp and loud but it doesn’t even sting. "Roll over."

You blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and ready to protest, but his face is red and his hair is a mess and he looks about as wrecked as you feel. His eyes keep dropping, from your face to the marks he’s left all over, and you can barely see the blue of his eyes for the black of his pupils. The sound you make is inarticulate and you push up to grab a handful of his hair. You pull him down, into a kiss, and he falls against you. His mouth is open and his tongue is searching. You scrape the tips of your fingers over his scalp and kiss him until you’re both breathless, then you pull away.

And roll over like he asked.

He moves over you one more time. When he plants one hand in the bed beside you, you reach out before you realize what you’re doing. He links his fingers with yours and gives them a gentle squeeze as he kisses across your shoulders. Then he starts to nip. To nibble. To suck here and there, from your shoulders, straight down your spine. There’s the soft hot press of his tongue and then the sharp nip of his teeth. His free hand cups your hip and he holds you in place as you try to arch, as you try to push back against him, try to rub yourself against the sheets. It’s completely ineffective and it’s more than you can take.

You toss your head back and grind your ass against the front of him. There’s a wet spot on his underwear that slides over the small of your back. “Enough foreplay!”

His laugh is hot and breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

He tugs your panties down but not off and frees himself from his shorts. The damp head of his cock nudges between your thighs and you arch again, pinned and granting access, and he’s easing slowly inside of you. He presses a hand low on your front to hold you still when he’s seated and his fingers slip between your folds. He catches your clit between them.

You might come from this.

But then he sets his teeth to your shoulder and starts moving, and it’s a hard fast rhythm that shakes the bed and leaves you boneless, has you clutching his fingers and shutting your eyes against the blurred vision. You’ve got no control over the sounds spilling from you. His mouth on your shoulder is pain that warps and turns into a hot electric thrill, that brings you closer and closer the same as his cock moving inside you, the same as his fingers toying with you.

It builds and builds and builds inside you until you don’t think you can take any more and that’s your voice begging him.

It happens almost at once, the stars you see and the total tension that melts out of you immediately, until you’re barely hanging on under him, shuddering through aftershocks, and he’s groaning long and low and then he’s holding his breath against your neck. You squeeze his fingers, encouraging, the most you can manage, limp now with your face pressed inelegantly into the pillow. His body seems heavier when he drapes himself over you. He kisses gently across your shoulders and up your neck and nuzzles into your hair as your breathing slows and returns to normal.

That feels like an invitation so you turn your face to kiss him.

***

Much later, you’re lying together facing each other, legs tangled. His fingers keep tracing the marks he left on you. The tips of his fingers trail over the shape his mouth on your shoulders, and on your sides, and at your hips. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t understand, but he’s quiet and contemplative, and you have nothing to say, so you let him touch and let him look until it’s too hard to keep your eyes open anymore.

You seize his fingers and bring them to your lips. He glances up, startled, as if suddenly remembering that you’re there. You smile a little and wriggle closer, and he puts his arm around you and brings your head to his chest. You fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.


End file.
